A Constellation of Tears
by Fire The Canon
Summary: When 9 year old Irma sees death for the first time, she vows never to be like her mother. But sometimes fate can throw things your way, and you're right where you left off. Right at the beginning.


_**Written for Danie's Song Inspiration Challenge (I used, lightly, inspiration from the song "My Songs Know What You Did In the Dark" by Fallout Boy**_

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**A Constellation of Tears**

A little face peeked from behind the curtain of a modest home in Kent. It wasn't big or fancy, nor was it in an area hidden from Muggles. It sat on a hill, not far from another house, and it barely had any visitors.

A dirt path was all that set itself apart from the rest of the small village, and people knew to stay clear of it. Strange things happened in that house, they said. Odd flashes of light, and weird noises. If they could help it, the Challock villagers avoided it at all costs.

"There's someone coming, Mother!" The voice belonged to the face peering out the window. She was a girl of about nine – two years off going to Hogwarts.

"Do you recognise him, Irma?" the girl's mother asked.

"No, but he looks like a Muggle, Mother." She almost spat the word, for Irma had been taught that Muggles were filth. Families such as the Blacks did not associate with them if they could help it. However, it was her father's job at the Ministry that had them where they were, almost _blending_ with such dirt.

Irma's mother appeared at the same window, peeking out to where a middle-aged man, dressed in that horrid Muggle attire, came strutting up the path. He looked important, Irma observed, but she was sure her mother could get rid of him with a wave of her wand.

_I won't tell_ _Father_.

There was a knock, and Irma jumped from the window sill to go answer the door. Her mother stopped her.

"No, Irma," she said. "I don't want you talking to him. Go and tend to your brother."

Irma scowled, but obeyed, entering the next room where little four-year-old Antares was playing. When she approached, he looked up and held out one of his toys. "Play with me, Irma!" he said.

Irma scowled. "No," she said. "There's a Muggle at the door," she then informed him. "I don't know why."

Antares only shrugged, and returned to what he was doing.

Irma hated Muggles – she hated them more than she hated her younger brother – but that day she witnessed something terrible. She could hear voices coming from the front entrance, and when she went to take a peek, she saw a flash of green light from her mother's wand and the Muggle collapse on the ground.

It was the first time she'd ever seen death, and when the Ministry came to investigate, Irma had been too frightened to lie.

Her mother was sent to Azkaban, and with the face of that Muggle still clear in her mind, Irma vowed that she would never kill anyone.

Even if they were a Muggle.

…

She went to Hogwarts like any normal pureblood child. She was excited, and like any good Crabbe, was Sorted into Slytherin. She made plenty of friends, and was intelligent enough to not draw too much attention from the teachers.

As they got older her friends started to slowly develop murderous thoughts. There was a young man at their school by the name of Tom Riddle, and he had the right idea, they said. Eliminating all the Mudbloods and Muggles.

Irma refused to agree. This would mean killing them, and she was not going to kill anyone. Not after she'd seen death.

However, at seventeen, something happened that would change all that. It was the school holidays, and she had decided to go for a walk not too far from the house. With her mother gone, her father didn't see any harm in her going for little walks.

"_You're old enough to use magic if they hurt you,"_ he had said, referring to the Muggle villagers they lived too close for comfort.

She hadn't gone very far when one of the young men in the village spotted her. He'd never seen her before, but he was looking at her funny… like most boys his age looked at girls. She wasn't even that attractive, but she was different, and he seemed to like that.

"What's your name?" he wanted to know. "You're from that house over there, aren't you?" He pointed to the modest home that belonged to her father.

Irma ignored him. She wouldn't give him the dignity of answering him.

"Not a talker, I see." He sat down on a low wall beside her, and when she moved away – still refusing to look at him or speak to him – he just moved even closer to her.

"What's your name, at least? I'm John."

Still no answer.

"Come on, talk to me," John pleaded.

Irma looked at him with scathing eyes, but still didn't respond. She hopped off from the wall and began to make her way back to the house. John, who apparently wasn't one to give up so easily, grabbed her wrist.

Irma's wand was out of her robe pocket before he'd even spun her around. His eyes widened at the surprise, but then he burst out laughing when she had it digging into his chest.

"Going to poke me to death?" he questioned, grinning. "Come on, just tell me your name and I'll leave you alone."

Irma gritted her teeth, digging her wand into him until she saw him wince in pain. "I can do a lot worse than _poke_ you," she said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I see," John teased. "Going to cast a spell, are you?"

Irma wrenched her wrist away, and before she could stop herself she was muttering the words she swore she would never say. A green flash of light left her wand, and John died with a look of surprise on his face. Her father came out after that, looking between his daughter and the dead Muggle.

"Irma…."

She didn't say anything, but ran past her father and back into the house. When he returned an hour later she didn't even ask him what had happened to the Muggle, and he never told her. An hour later, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

Something changed that day, though. Something big. She'd vowed never to take a life, yet she had. She'd killed just like her mother had all those years ago – a defenceless Muggle who didn't even have the chance to protect himself.

_He was scum_, she tried telling herself, but it made little difference. Her choice had been made, and not even magic could reverse death.

When she married Pollux Black she was in too deep. She was a Black now, and Blacks were notorious for Darkness. She had three children, all of whom she raised well. They were brought up to hate Muggles and Mudbloods, and before they'd even reached seventeen, all of them had killed at least once.

From the days she'd been too afraid to even utter a curse that could cause death, Irma had come along way. She thought back to those two fateful days often, remembering each as clearly as if it had only happened yesterday.

As a child she'd never wanted to kill someone – even those below her – but then as a teenager she had anyway. As an adult she raised her children to be the persons she so detested, and they raised their own children as such.

She knew that if that Muggle hadn't come to her house that day, she would still be where she was anyway. Even if she'd never witnessed a man die, she'd still be the same.

She was a Black now, and Blacks were trained to kill. Once one got the taste for it, there was no going back. She now understood the look of delight in her mother's eyes when it happened – death was but a weakness, and she had the power to take it.

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_**I'm very pleased with how this turned out. I enjoy unexplored characters, and Irma Crabbe was fun. I hope you liked it if you read it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!**_


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